On the lockdown: Two by Moe Seager
“Once, a long time ago,
People sat together
Talking in soft voices
That only they could hear
Heads almost touching . . . “
Before Corona, Mike Stone
Morning gives to afternoon
Time to tuck away dreams, desire, inner being
Corporeal gravity of transparent routines, anemic rituals
Rain, Spring returns from exile
Sucks on Aprils nipples
Thunder claps, falling waters
Herd us against each other
Repelling most in hurried flight for home
Where we are absolutely safe
Witness those drowning
In the empty vessels of themselves
Oh this day would be dull, boring
Were it not for the occasional flash
Of bright umbrellas
One, the color red
To remind us
My umbrella is a tent
I a nomad
Wandering through this village
Not quite sure of how to conduct myself
By chance, design?
We come upon each other
The solitude of two
Too soon it is time
You must go
I shall wait
Beauty is stubborn
© 2020, Moe Seager
Paris calling. Week 4 or 5? Not sure. French president Macron announced the prolongation of the lock down to May 11. He says by that date we shall have test kits and an adequate supply of masks. Aping the U.S.,, France manufactures millions of bullets weekly but is at a loss to readily supply its citizens with protective gear. Yes, like the US., France can manufacture goods that end life but not so well that which will save lives. I’m a socially active guy so this lock down is quite challenging. I have a dog Bertha. I’m allowed to walk her twice a day. Like other cities the air here is now clear. Flowers and green things spring and bud pallets of colors more vividly than in past seasons. Flora blooms larger than usual. My life is smaller. The change in surroundings and social climate affect Bertha as well. She moves casually, in step with me in no need of prompting. We hear several species of birds as we’ve not heard before. Birds make music and speech, comforting. Put down the dictionary, wake up the ears. I have a g-o-d- Great Out Doors, manifest as atmosphere, stratosphere, ionosphere, beyond where I cannot ascend to reach. Truly beyond my comprehension, nonetheless marvelous to marvel at, outside and in. I’ve been commissioned to write two books, poetry and short stories just prior to the quarantine. The quarantine is writing me. There are moments, unsettling in the deep drifting night when this isolation seeds a solitude I’m barely prepared to wade in. My gallery of dreams resonate a consciousness, feelings ominous. I wake with urgent need to love; they whom I hold in my heart, to care for those I’ve callously dismissed for petite self serving motives. Wake up is a mercurial meditation. I’m a spectator of my inner self. Yes I latch onto social media, relieving my anxieties by viewing yours, heartened when expressing my sympathy for you and yours. Oftimes Facebook is Death book. Times I lapse into a list of those who must not perish, for their sake, for mine. I have witnessed parents, mothers, my own burying her own children. Then gladdened with news that someone, others have survived a dance with death. And I know we’re in this together. willfully or not. Fear of mortality invokes frenzied vitality. With all my impotent indignation and rage I indict those governors of politics and fortunes, the immune by privilege, for their indefensible manipulations and greed driven exploitation of us Us, we are everybody by virtue of our common humanity. You might expect that the poet I am would center me, magnetize my focus onto language. Truth be told it’s a song, a song from any number of periods and styles. A piece of music, be it of voice or instruments, both, that unearth the sadness, the joys, the will… against the odds we stay in the game. No one to witness me shed bitter sweet tears and laughter. I dance to the notice of my dog Bertha. She sits calmly, quizzically. Good for her. The day is made.
© 2020, Moe Seager
MOE SEAGER (Moe Seager- Paris Calling) is a poet and jazz & blues vocalist who sings his poems on stages in Paris, New York and elsewhere and has recorded 2 jazz-poetry c.d.s. Seager founded and hosts Angora Poets (Paris) World Caffé, 100 Thousand Poets for Change, Paris and is one of the coordinators for le Fédération des Poètes paris. He has 5 collections of poetry and currently publishes published with Onslaught press, Oxford, U.K. Other poetry collections are issued from the French Ministry of Culture – Dream Bearers,1990. One World, Cairo Press – in Arabic translation, 2004. We Want Everything in French translation, les Temps des Cirises, Paris, 1994. Perhaps, La Maison de la Poesie, Grenoble, France, 2006. Fishermen and Pool Sharks Busking editions, London, 1992. Additionally Seager won a Golden Quill Award (USA) for investigative journalism, 1989 and received an International Human Rights award from the Zepp foundation, 1990. He teaches writing in Paris.
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